A Lost and Troubled Soul
by VideoGameNut
Summary: It's easy to be good when you're born in the light. A happy family, caring parents, friends...that makes it seem so simple. But it can never be simple for someone who's been dealt a bad hand from day one. Someone who's never had a chance. The world has never done anything for him, never given him a reason to care. But life always has ways to make things interesting, right?
1. Sins of the Father

Chapter 1

 **Sins of the Father**

xXx

oOoOoOoOo (3rd Person) oOoOoOoOo

The docks of the many port towns along the coast of Vacuo were never a safe place. Even in the light of day they tended to be a hive of less than legal activity, shady negotiations held in the tight alleys between warehouses full of imported goods, surrounded by crates that hid them better from view and dulled the sound even in the midst of hustle and bustle. When more privacy was required there was the occasional meeting on a boat or small ship for privacy, held in a small docking area that was curiously free of activity for the day.

And for anyone who stumbled upon such a meeting? Well, it _was_ an area among the docks. Plenty of crates to hide a body in, plenty of water to dump a corpse with some weight. Even plenty of sand for miles around on shore if someone could smuggle it out for a cheap burial. At least if the person didn't decide to stumble away and mind their own business or, if ambitious and having a silver tongue, find a way to negotiate a cut.

High-risk and high-reward, that was a good description of the place. The righteous might come to these places to die, but for the profit driven it tended to be a very satisfying gamble. Keep your head low and your ear to the ground, know who to talk to and when to take a bribe and keep your mouth shut and you could come out of a days work with some pretty good money. Try to rat someone out and you just tended to disappear.

Thing is, as chaotic as things could be in the day, the nights were the worst. The domain of either the suicidal, the ones without choice or the risky to the point of stupid. Besides a few orphans who had nothing but a crate tuckered away to live or hide in, this was a time when people with weapons and grudges came out to play in a place where everybody else was smart enough to keep out.

 **(BOOM!)**

And as a warehouse neared to the coast seemed to go up in flames, like a great firework finally setting off from a fuse with sparks flying into the night, this was _definitely_ a night for the safety-conscious to stay away.

oOoOoOoOo Irving Frost oOoOoOoOo

' _Dammit!'_

He stumbled away from scorched skeleton of the warehouse, trying to keep his senses sharp and alert in spite of the noise and what he thought was the budding ring of tinnitus.

That damn explosion had been like a fucking flashbang going on all around him, the Dust crates in the warehouse immediately combusting in a burst of light and sound. He was lucky he turned on his Aura when the blast happened, even luckier that he'd been by a window to fly out of.

Not so lucky that he'd gotten out unscathed, as the rather noticeable burn on his right leg showed, the mark going from just under his knee all the way down. Not to mention the small shards of glass he could feel piercing into his left side from the clumsy landing.

And his mobility wasn't exactly helped by the weapon strapped to his back; a very large broadsword half the breadth of his chest with a handle almost a third of the total length, held right under a shield that was similarly large and holding strangely sharp edges. He named it Mercy as a dark joke.

He coughed, trying to clear his throat. "Fucking brat go me good." He hadn't expected Talbot to _actually_ blow up the warehouse. He didn't even know he _could_ with the abilities he'd shown, the abilities he'd _trained_ him with. Had he developed that little ace in the hole on his own when he wasn't looking?

Holy _SHIT_ , did he plan this!?

He couldn't help the pained chuckle as he stumbled into another alley. "Not too bad, you fucking brat."

He groped up at the chain around his neck, his shaking dying down at feeling its cool silver at his touch. His fingers slowly worked over it, feeling every edge and curve at the wolfs head emblem as his nerves calmed. _'Will it finally be the day?'_

He could feel the tinnitus finally dying down and his Aura getting to work on the damages to his body. He already felt his leg getting better, though the glass might be a bit of a problem. He didn't _think_ it nicked anything like a bigger vein, but it was still in his side pretty good.

' _Eh, I've been through worse.'_

He stiffened as he heard rustling nearby. He almost thought it was Talbot for a moment, but then he realized he _never_ would've made noise like that when sneaking around. A bystander?

He didn't wonder long before somebody, some kid, tan skinned and sandy blond, barely even a teen, came out from a nearby alley and stared at him. Some orphan with a crate here? It wouldn't be surprising, he'd seen them before.

The runts eyes widened as he saw him, looking like he was about to shout.

Irving shut him up with a pair of throwing knives straight into his skull through his eyes. He dropped dead barely a moment later.

He grunted, a little disappointed. If he'd had the time he would've taken some gut shots at him and let him squeal before putting him out of his misery. But he couldn't draw that kind of attention now.

Unfortunately, it looked like that dull thump of a body was enough of an alert for the bastard. And a thin cloud of metallic powder quickly passed the corner right toward him!

He felt the grin form on his face, wide and savage as he pulled his sword out.

It was a wicked looking thing, tall and broad, with numerous serrations and sharp extra edges. It looked more like a demented butchery tool that a proper sword.

And that was without taking his Semblance into account.

Channeling his Aura into it, his sword started to glow a fiery red, the air seeming to combust merely from making contact, even from just getting close. He called it Ignition Point.

He swung it up from a downward angle, making contact with the concrete ground and slicing a great scar clean through. The material didn't even slow his weapon down in the least, merely glowing the same red as his blade at the moment of contact before spreading out, melting into something akin to makeshift lava.

Then, as if following the arc of his blade, it shot out in a great spout, bigger than his own body by far, at the oncoming cloud of metal dust in a wave of molten concrete and asphalt, drowning and melting it on contact.

He immediately leapt back as more iron dust flowed around the corner, enough to make it clear that Talbot now knew where he was. Staying in place now was suicide, but he made sure to carve his glowing blade through the ground and warehouse walls along the way to keep a steady flow of molten matter.

After turning the alley into a veritable sea of it, he jumped up onto the nearby wall to use as a springboard and leap again up to the roof. Feeling his feet land on the hard metal, knees braced, helped him to feel alive and get his blood pumping.

He ran along the roof, leaping across the edge and clearing to the next easily. He turned around and smiled as he saw his pursuer.

Well, not his _actual_ pursuer. That would've been a little difficult through the thick _cloud_ of iron powder, swirling around like a storm of metal. The occasional arc of electricity just sold the image even more. It was the kind of image that could make the pursued piss themselves, especially since it was gaining on him fast because of his not-entirely healed leg.

But Irving wasn't just _anybody_. And as he made his next leap he twisted in the air and wrenched the shield from his back, slamming it onto the flat of his sword and activating the internal mechanisms with a flow of his Aura. The sound of activating mechanisms, of pieces grinding together into place flowed into his ears as the weapon changed, the shield shooting up to near the top of the sword and folding over it, its bladed edges growing and extending outward.

He jumped into the air with a sword in hand and a shield on his back. When he landed, he had both hands on a massive axe, the blades of the head glowing bright. "You've been a bad boy, Tal! Time for a _spanking_!"

He swung out the axe in a vertical cup down, his Semblance causing the bladed edges to go white hot, igniting the air into plasma and shooting it out into a great arc that glowed in the night! It seared the air, growing more and more, rapidly gaining size until it was long enough that it was cutting almost hallway down into the warehouse from the ceiling down, right as it hit the cloud of iron dust.

It was reduced to molten slag on contact, even the dust not hit was so superheated that it immediately lost its magnetic charge, dropping down.

But there was something missing, something not right. No scream of pain, not even a squeak. Talbot wasn't there!

' _Oh shit.'_

His instincts screamed at him to leap away and he did so, barely avoiding what looked like a thin blade of undulating iron dust cutting through his previous position, coming right up from below the roof. Twisting in the air before he landed, he spun with his axe low to cut a hole clean through the roof and drop down weapon first.

The whole room lit up as his Semblance set his weapon alight, and he saw him.

Tall, slightly over six feet in height, hair a dark brown verging on black, his steel grey eyes cold and sharp as they glared right at him. His weapon shrouded in a vibrating mass of iron dust like a long sheath, streams of it moving out.

Irving twisted in the air to bring his weapon down on the ground as he landed, the impact heating the point of contact and rapidly it as a lance along the ground of molten concrete heading straight for him.

Talbot dodged to the side, completely avoiding the oncoming attack. He swung his weapon out again, another wave of that iron dust conducted with his Semblance, sparking with electricity from the lightning Dust he must've put into the base. He was trying to play keep away, getting in close wouldn't help _either_ of them.

' _That's fine by me!'_

Irving swung his axe out again, another wave of air turned plasma from his Semblance soaring away to burn and melt everything in its way. The ground melted, the temperature of the warehouse rose just from the convection, wooden crates were burned to ashes on touch and the contents scorched.

Talbot dodged again, but Irving didn't care. He hit what he _really_ wanted to. The arc hit the iron sand extending from his weapon as a long cloud, melting it down and rendering it useless to him.

The kid's Semblance was a potent one, especially with a good set up, but it had its flaws. The biggest was that it relied on what could be a very limited resource, and losing any of it here would be a big problem for him. He might be able to make the metal grind down to make more of that sand he liked to use, but it would take time and focus. And Irving wasn't in the mood to give him either of them.

So he'd whittle him down.

He sent out another arc, getting closer this time and nicking more of the metal sand that he kept floating around. Strike after strike he sent out, searing the battleground until it was a sweltering picture of Hell! Piles of molten metal on the floor from every clash, every time one of his plasma projectiles landed a hit. He must've sent off more than a dozen.

It costed him a lot of Aura. Using his Semblance, Ignition Point, could be very costly with liberal use, but it was all about to pay off. Talbot was so low on that sand now that Irving could almost see his weapon through the pitiful remains of what used to be a storm cloud of metal. A Combination Weapon of a two foot long and single edged blade coming down from a shotgun of equal length, the handle somewhat angled and with a revolver like mechanism between the handle and weapon.

The warehouse they were in groaned in protest to the battle within, seemingly about to collapse. This fight wasn't gonna last much longer.

Talbot started shooting at him from a distance, heavy slugs instead of buckshot. Not that it would've made any difference, Mercy blocked it all the same, the axe blade briefly coming down on the sword to somewhere on the middle of the weapon. It stopped the shots easy.

He popped his head to the side with another savage grin. "You done, yet?"

Talbot didn't answer him, not vocally. He didn't even smile, though his eyes shined with a predatory gleam for the briefest moment. Rather than take more shots he reached to his back pocket…and pulled out a fire Dust crystal. Then he jammed it _right_ into the meat of his right shoulder without so much as a flinch. Guess that must be the pain tolerance training.

Okay, unexpected, but nothing he couldn't handle. A few fire blasts wouldn't be enough to break Mercy up and get to him.

But he didn't do that. He didn't bother blasting him with a fireball or a stream of heat. He brought up his weapon, held in the hand of the arm with the crystal impaled in as his veins started to glow.

And then it happened. All the fire that had been crackling on the burnt crates, all the glowing heat along the molten concrete, all the embers and cinders flowed through the air in a maelstrom of ashes and charred matter, the air rippling and glowing as the energy flowed through it. And it all concentrated at the tip of Talbot's gun barrel.

And that was the moment it all clicked. He hadn't been helpless, Talbot was luring him in. He _let_ him keep hitting the metal sand around his weapon, making him think he was removing his only way to attack him at range even while he was _giving_ him all the ammo he needed for this last shot. Tricking him into throwing out more attacks with his Semblance and burn the area like the charred remains of a forest after a wildfire. And now he was turning it all _back_ on him!

' _Oh SHIT.'_

He barely had time to plant his weapon and brace, heard the click of a trigger and then everything blew up.

That one shot held all the heat and energy he'd been releasing with his Semblance, focused into a single round that exploded on contact with his shield. His Aura had already been brought low to the point of barely 15%.

He felt his weapon break on the explosion, felt himself fly through the air as the explosion carried him. Felt himself slam into the wall of the warehouse on his back and head and keep going on the way out with a deafening boom, his Aura finally running dry as he slammed into more solid concrete.

He was done. He'd lost.

oOoOoOoOo Talbot ? oOoOoOoOo

Talbot walked forward, carefully weaving his way through the twisted and smashed floor. The heat may be gone, but the _physical_ damage still remained and could be a very real trip hazard. The spot where his last bullet hit was a different story, looking like the whole area was alight like a neon sign of every color representing something burnt.

The hole far at the end was at least easy to traverse, easily wide enough to walk through at over 12 feet all around. He walked right through it to the outside and felt the cool night air hit his skin and blow through his hair, a welcome change from the inside of that damned warehouse.

Of course, the best part was seeing that bastard lying down against the wall, burned and broken. His leather vest blackened and barely more than a heap of scorched leather, its old color completely gone. His white shirt beneath was covered with soot, and his pants were missing the left leg from the knee down.

It was fucking cathartic to see him brought this low after so long.

He stopped walking as he got several feet in front of him, hearing his raspy breathing. Some of his hair had been burnt off, particularly that goatee and small beard, his face flushed red from the heat. But most noticeable was the impressive bloodstain on the wall behind his head. Looks like he hit it pretty hard.

' _Good.'_

He pulled out his weapon the moment the wounded man coughed, raspy sounding like he'd just smoked a whole carton of cigarettes. Not an inaccurate analogy.

The man looked up at him, eyes swimming before they finally got back into focus. He didn't even seem to recognize him at first, probably a result of the concussion, his mind still swimming from the impact of the back of his head meeting the wall. For a moment Talbot thought he'd be completely out of it until death.

That thought vanished barely a moment later as from Talbot's mind when yet another animalistic grin split the man's mouth, teeth bared like he was a wild animal. He chuckled low and deep, predatory. "So, _this_ is how it ends, huh? A bullet through my head because you're scared to get close?"

Talbot didn't react to the goading. He knew _damn_ well just how dangerous Irving was, this was the bastard who _taught_ him everything he knew. Getting close now? No way.

He just cocked the gun for one more round.

He seemed to recognize his bluff wouldn't be called, because he just sagged back against the wall with a last broken sigh. Resignation, acceptance, and...something else. Something he couldn't quite figure out. "Heh. Figures."

He had his finger on the trigger, tensed and ready to pull. He said the last words he'd ever say to him, voice cold as he looked into his eyes for what would be the last time. "Just using the skills you taught me… _dad_."

He pulled the trigger. And Irving Frost, his father, was no more.

He took another shot for good measure, destroying almost his entire head and splattering the wall behind with grey matter, blood, and skull fragments.

He stood there for a while, silently looking at the headless corpse. He felt…cold. Not wrong or upset, just cold. He'd spent years waiting for this moment, fantasizing about it for three years ever since he'd decided enough was enough. And now that it was here, he wasn't sure _what_ to feel now.

He wasn't really happy, though that's probably because it'd been so thoroughly beaten out of him over the years. He wasn't sad, this shell of a man was far past the point of getting tears out of him.

He shivered slightly, not from the cold but the memories. His left hand came up to his extended right arm, ghosting along it and somehow feeling the scars beneath the black denim jacket. No, he _definitely_ wasn't sad.

So what _was_ it? Uncertainty, excitement, anticipation? He didn't know. All he knew was that this man was dead. Knew that he was free now.

That was all he needed.

He got down on his knees, and reached out to pluck the silver chain and pendant off. He didn't pay attention to the bloodstains, just putting it into the pocket of his pants.

He turned away, heading out of this damned area of the docks. No point in staying around when people asked questions and found the body.

He still made sure to restore his supply of metal sand, using his Semblance to send out what little he had left to go out and grind down other big chunks of metal to assimilate. Nobody was gonna miss a few pieces of metal. And if they did then it wasn't his problem anyway.

All he cared about was that he was getting out of here. That he was _free_.

oOoOoOoOo Salem oOoOoOoOo

Salem liked to consider herself a patient woman.

She was experienced with the world. She was one of the oldest living people in Remnant. She was intelligent. Naturally one would expect patience to be part and parcel of the package, and they would generally be right.

However, as she sat in the table with one hand supporting her head and the fingers of the other rhythmically tapping on the hard wood, she couldn't help but feel that patience start to wane. It had been over a week since she'd sent out the order to arrange another assignment for Irving Frost when she had expected a response in _half_ the time.

Granted, the man was notoriously difficult. Even to _her_ he maintained an attitude that could be considered flippant at best. He seemed to outright _enjoy_ trying to rile up everyone around him. Granted, he never quite crossed the line entirely with her directly, keeping it confined to minor and subtle barbs, but it even extended to moments like this.

Even then he had _never_ taken this long to respond. She had eventually decided to send Hazel out to find him and, if necessary, bring him back by force. She was expecting a response any moment now and the suspense was becoming truly infuriating.

Fortunately her personal Seer entered the room before her growing impatience reached the point that she would break the section of the table under her tapping fingers. _Finally_ some progress.

Or at least she _hoped_ it was progress. If this was a call from something unrelated she would be _quite_ upset.

The Grimm seemed unperturbed by her mood, floating over to her with its usual eerie grace. It maneuvered beside her and she looked into the dark sphere of its head, her reflection distorting in the misty mater within before another face appeared.

Hazel. So it seems she _would_ have some progress after all. "Report. Why has Irving not responded?"

The large man sighed on the other end, getting a raised eyebrow out of her. "Irving Frost is dead."

And _that_ got her other eyebrow up. "Dead?"

Hazel nodded in confirmation. "His corpse was found a short while ago in some port town in Vacuo. His head had been blown clean off, but I'm sure it was him. His weapon was found at the scene and the pendant he always wore was missing. The whole place was badly torn up, melted or just blown away. There was definitely a big fight and, if I'm reading it right, it was one-on-one."

Oh. Now _this_ was an interesting development. Irving was a thoroughly unpleasant Human being, but his skills were undeniable. There was a reason she kept him as an agent, particularly for matters that involved a great deal of murder and destruction. For someone to have actually _beaten_ him, and alone at that….it was certainly impressive.

Perhaps even impressive enough to warrant recruitment.

"Can you track his killer?"

If Hazel was surprised at her question he didn't show it. "Yes. Though it might take me some time. This happened two days ago, so whoever it is has got a lead on me."

"Find him," she ordered. "Find Irving's killer and bring him here. Alive. He may yet prove useful. I'll also assign Watts to assist you if necessary. Someone capable of killing Irving shouldn't be taken lightly."

The Huntsman gave an affirmative grunt. "It will be done."

The conversation ended after that, Salem essentially 'hanging up' as the vision in the sphere of her Seer went dark. The Grimm was dismissed afterwards.

This was certainly an unexpected turn of events, not at all what she'd planned fore. Repulsiveness aside even she couldn't deny that Mr. Frost was capable in battle, so for someone to have beaten him…..they could be a valuable piece indeed. Perhaps valuable enough to replace their predecessor.

And if no…well, the world wouldn't notice one more dead body.

 **xXx**

Shit! I can't believe I couldn't get this out on the anniversary of Monty's death! For some reason I thought it was on the _2_ _nd_ of February instead of the first. I'm gonna need to mark it on the calendar. Incidentally, it turns out he died just two days before my birthday. I kinda already knew that, but it only really sank in NOW of all times. Probably for the best it was early, I don't know how I'd feel if he died ON my birthday.

Anyway, I was hoping to get out the next chapter for World of Remnant: Online in time for said anniversary as a tribute, but for some reason I seem to be having some case of selective writers block on it. That and a combination of real life being the ultimate distraction from updates. As for this chapter here, it's actually the start of another RWBY fic I've been thinking of for a while now. Strangely I was able to type this up in just three days. Maybe it was a combination of desire to meet the anniversary and just my mind unshackling at writing something new? I dunno.

Either way this chapter is still a bit short, but similarly to the second chapter of Infinite Variant I think it was better to keep it a bit shorter anyway. You can only stretch the same part of content over so long until it just gets hard to care about what you're reading and feel invested. I hope this was enough to get you attention for what's to come. I plan to update this fic AFTER every chapter of World of Remnant: Online, so look forward to it. If anyone has questions feel free to PM me. Please point out any and all spelling or grammar errors in your reviews.

To Monty, if you can hear us from your animation studio in Heaven, you are forever in our hearts and shall not be forgotten. I dedicate my every RWBY fic to your memory. Hearing that from just one fan might not be much, but I hope it shows you just how much your series meant and continues to mean to us.

Review and have a nice day.


	2. Evasion and Pursuit

Chapter 2

 **Evasion and Pursuit**

xXx

oOoOoOoOo Talbot Frost oOoOoOoOo

 _*Drip* *Drip*_

Talbot stirred slightly, groaning as he tried to sit up straight from his position on the ground. Everything was hurting for some reason, joints throbbing and his eyes feeling like they were sealed shut. What the Hell happened?

 _*Drip* *Drip*_

' _What's that noise'_ , he thought, trying to clear the swimming sensation in his head and get up. He brought the knee of his right leg forward, left foot driving him up into a standing position. He wavered slightly at full height, trying to keep himself straight.

 _*Drip*_ _*Drip*_

Talbot grimaced slightly, trying to open his eyes. His lids felt so heavy for some reason and refused to budge. After several attempts he brought up a hand to rub at his eyes, hoping to bring back some bit of motion and feeling to them. His next attempt to open his eyes was more successful, and he was finally able to see again.

It was….a room. A room with wooden walls and a single window he could see, held above a simple bed. He spied what looked like a closet near the corner opposite of it, the door closed.

It seemed….strangely familiar to him somehow. He could almost swear he had been here before.

"What's going on," he muttered, his tongue feeling strangely dry.

"You tell me."

He froze the moment he heard the voice, an unearthly chill racing up and down his spine, lungs seeming to freeze in his chest. That voice….. _his_ voice. How? Why?

Swallowing air down his dry throat, he slowly turned around. There was a table with a chair beside it, both made of wood, a man seated in the chair and glaring at him with narrowed eyes. A man he knew all too well.

He was tall, slightly taller than Talbot at 6'3 and with visible muscle tone, skin covered in an intricate combination of tattoos intermingling with scars big and small. Oily black hair grown out, the back falling down to the base of his neck and the front bangs ghosting over his eyes.

Irving "Hunter" Frost. His father.

Everything seemed less real the moment his eyes fell on the man, his head swimming and thoughts racing. Was it hate, fear, anger, or maybe all of the above? It all blended together to the point where Talbot couldn't even tall.

He wanted to _do_ something. To _say_ something, to scream and howl and shout at the…..the _monster_ seated in front of him. To curse the man, to beg him to leave him alone, to even scream while pulling out his weapon to murder him. But all he could say, the only thing that escaped, was a scared and pitiful stutter of, "D-dad?"

 _*Drip* *Drip*_

Irving smiled at him, a cruel and wicked thing that wouldn't be out of place on a shark that just smelled fresh blood. He rose from the seat and stood at his full height, and he suddenly seemed even TALLER than Talbot remembered. Or was the room just suddenly smaller?

Irving chuckled mirthlessly. "What's the matter, son? You almost look like you've seen a ghost."

Talbot froze again, something in those words shocking him into stillness. Ghost? Why was that word striking him somehow?

He didn't have long to think of it anyway, because the moment the thought flashed through his mind was the moment his father started to move. He took a step forward, every movement seeming to be in slow motion. Then his foot hit the floor and Talbot could swear he felt the ground shake slightly.

He took a reflexive step back.

Irving's smile grew wider, white teeth showing in the light of the room. "Aw, what's wrong, you getting' scared?"

He took another step forward. Then another. Another. The ground seeming to shake slightly with every step taken.

Talbot could only move back in turn, panicking.

 _*Drip* *Drip*_

He grimaced, hands rushing to his head in response to a splitting headache. DAMMIT, he knew there was something wrong here, but WHAT? _WHAT?_

*Drip* *Drip*

His grimace deepened. "What the hell is that sound!?"

The room shook one more time and his eyes opened wide, staring up at his father before him. He…didn't even look Human now. Tall, _freakishly_ tall, head bent forward to avoid scraping the ceiling as he looked down at him, eyes glowing blue with no visible whites. His limbs were long, skin pale and matted with scars with what seemed like festering scabs.

" _ **LOOK BEHIND YOU."**_

Ignoring every instinct screaming in his head not to listen, to not let this monster leave his immediate sight….he did so. He turned and realized that, in his haste to keep away, he backed right up to the closet door.

" _ **OPEN IT."**_

He….he couldn't stop himself. Like a man caught in hypnosis he reached out, hand shaking at he grasped the doorknob. It turned and the door cracked open.

Somehow, he knew he didn't want to see what was on the other side. That opening the door meant there would be no going back. That it would be diving into a nightmare. His hand froze again.

There was a sound behind him, a horrifying combination of a hiss and growl of displeasure, then a hand came down to rest on his own. The fingers were so _long_ , so many joints that let those digits seem to wrap around his hand completely, skin dirty and chapped and somehow both cold and hot to the touch.

The door was forced open, the hand over his own forcing it so.

He saw her body. And now he knew where the sound was coming from.

 _*DRIP* *DRIP* *DRIP* *DRIP*_

He gagged, feeling the bile rise up from the back of his throat. There was a dark and menacing chuckle behind him.

" _ **D**_ _o_ _ **Yo**_ _u_ _ **gE**_ **t i** _ **t no**_ _W?_ _ **"**_

Hands grabbed his shoulders and forced him to turn around, staring the monster in the face. Long, sharp teeth lining a smile in a mouth stretched far too wide, eyes slitted and menacing, every inch of skin matted with ugly, _rotting_ scars oozing pus and faint trickles of red blood.

" **T** H _E_ **R** _ **E**_ **'S N** **O** _ **T**_ HI **NG Y** _ **O**_ _U_ **H** _ **A**_ _V_ _E_ **T** _HA_ **T I C** _A_ _ **N**_ **'** **T** **T** _ **A**_ _K_ _E_ _ **AWAY**_ **!"**

The monster pushed him into the closet, his back thumping against the body as warm blood splashed against the back of his neck. Laughing, the monster closed the door in front of him.

The last thing he heard was his own scream.

Talbot awoke in a cold sweat with a gasp, breathing in great gulps of air and releasing them just as quick. He looked around himself, trying to calm down and stop the tremors.

He was in a room, sitting up in a bed. Not like the room from the dream, the walls were still wood but of a darker color, polished and shining slightly. There were some paintings on the walls, small ones showing calming, meaningless things like nature portraits or vases with flowers. Relaxing.

There was just the slightest rumble beneath him, gently pulling him fully into the waking world as it all sank in. Now he remembered. He was on a train, heading further into the Kingdom and the capital of Vacuo. The Dune Express. He'd had money to spare so he splurged a little to get first class.

His hand came up to his neck, groping and feeling for the chain and tracing along it to the pendant that dangled from it. The pendant he took from….

"He's dead now," he whispered, voice hoarse. "He's dead and gone now. It's over."

The tremors finally stopped and he was able to relax somewhat. Not entirely, he wasn't really sure he ever could, but it was enough.

Sighing, he looked to the coffee table beside him. Not much on it besides a newspaper and an empty porcelain cup that was long since empty of any coffee. He didn't _think_ he'd missed dinner, he was pretty sure he'd have woken up before that, but…..

He turned to the window, view blocked by the closed shutters and noticed the light trying to penetrate the barrier. Yeah, if it was bright out then he'd woken up before dinner.

He tossed aside the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, bringing his feet to the floor and standing up. The room wasn't a large one, not by any definition, but it was roomy enough that he didn't need to worry about stumbling into anything as he walked around to the sofa on the other side of the coffee table. Kneeling down, he opened one of the compartments beneath that were holding some of his luggage.

Pulling out what he was looking for, his fingers immediately went to the zipper. He opened it and reached in, touching what felt like a sheath of leather and he felt more secure. His weapon. Eisenwald.

He thought he didn't need it to sleep anymore, but it looked like that nightmare might be proving him wrong. Of course, it _could_ just be because of yesterday.

….. _Sigh_. Damn, now he was having trouble not thinking about it.

He pulled his hand from the bag and brought it back to the pendant hanging from his neck. Fingers traced along the chain to the mass of metal hanging down, gently following along it until he pulled it off and over his head, bringing it up so he could see it.

The pendant itself was pure silver, a wolf's head being shaped from it at the front with the mouth slightly open and teeth bared. It suited his old man perfectly.

He wasn't even entirely sure why he decided to wear it. Maybe it was a joke at Irving's expense, some show that he had surpassed him as an alpha predator? He honestly didn't know.

Sighing, he just stuffed the damn thing into the bag and pushed the thought from his mind. Talbot wasn't really sure what the Hell he was even gonna do with it once he was done here, but all odds indicated he'd probably just throw it away and do his damn best to forget everything he associated it with.

Not bothering to put his bag away again, Talbot just got onto the sofa and did his best to relax. He was pretty sure the brief nap and nasty wake-up would keep him from falling asleep again. He'd just wait until dinner, get something to eat, try to fall asleep (holding his weapon this time to be sure) and wake up in the city of Vacuo. Then he'd finish his damned business there and leave everything involving his father behind him.

He'd finally be free.

oOoOoOoOo Hazel Rainart oOoOoOoOo

Hazel grunted in irritation, leaning back silently against a warehouse wall in Vacuo. He'd already investigated the sight of the apparent battle for any clues, though there were precious few among the burned warehouses and molten concrete. Whatever the Hell had happened was enough to force Irving to really cut loose.

' _Not for very long though,'_ he thought. _'Whatever happened here was quick. And if Irving was forced to escalate the fight that quickly rather than take his time….then we're dealing with someone very dangerous.'_

"So sorry for the wait Hazel," came a familiar voice from beside him. The large man turned his head to see the stoic face of Arthur Watts, another of Salem's inner circle.

"You're late."

"Attending to some last minute work of my own," he answered with an oily smoothness. "Lady Salem had assigned me something else to take care of and I thought it best to get done with it quickly."

Hazel stared at the man for a moment, not particularly liking that Salem didn't see fit to inform him of such a matter, but he brushed it off. "Fine then. And now that it's settled, perhaps we can move on to our more mutual assignment?"

Watts nodded, flashing him the smallest bit of teeth from a smile behind his thick moustache. "Indeed. So, am I correct in assuming you've thoroughly checked over the area?"

"It wasn't exactly hard," Hazel retorted, gesturing with his hand over to a warehouse with a wall completely blown outwards. "I've seen Irving's Semblance in action before and all the evidence points towards it," Hazel started walking, Watts following along behind him as he gestured to the signs." Spots of concrete that were obviously molten in the fight, gratuitous burn marks everywhere, the works. From what I could tell it was started by an explosion in another warehouse on the other side of this spot of the docks."

"Yes, I checked it out with a look through their storage records. Apparently that one was filled with quite a bit of Dust on the night of this little debacle. But the fight is secondary to our bigger question; where is the culprit?"

Hazel sighed, bringing up a hand to massage his forehead in exasperation. He'd worked with Watts long enough to know where he was leading the conversation to. "I don't know," he admitted. "There were no witnesses to the conflict, at least none left alive. Considering the possibility of a personal airship, even assuming he's still in Vacuo may be incorrect."

Watts' response was about what he'd expected; a smug smile and explanation. "Well then, it's a good thing you weren't sent here to simply investigate, isn't it?" The former Atlasian researcher took the lead this time, Hazel following him along to some other section of the docks. "I took the liberty of digging through the passenger listings for the local means of transport to and from here. It was tedious work, but I spotted a familiar name; Trent Morgan. I assume you recognize it?"

Trent Morgan? Actually, now that Watts mentioned it the name did seem familiar somehow. But…ah! "One of his aliases," he responded. "I remember him using it while contacting us once. But what does that have to do with what happened here?"

"Because that name was also on the passenger registry for the people LEAVING two days ago."

Hazel's right brow rose at that little bit of information. That _was_ rather interesting. Granted, the possibility of someone having that as an _actual_ name wasn't impossible, but Watts was implying Irving's alias was the _only_ example of that name on the registry. And if it was going out even after his death…..

"Put it together have you?" Watts inquired, his tone resembling that of a parent imparting some lesson to a child. "Yes, the killer of our occasional….compatriot, used that same alias to leave. Odd that he would use the name of the man he'd killed, but I do believe we've both seen stranger. And that train was scheduled to go straight to the city of Vacuo."

Right to Vacuo? _'That could be problematic,'_ Hazel thought. The namesake capital of the Kingdom might not be the most populous or densely occupied of the Four Kingdoms, but that was still a very large crowd to throw off a trail. Not to mention Vacuo's underground was by far the most comprehensive in the world, surpassing even the seedy underbelly of Mistral by a wide margin, meaning there were plenty of ways for someone to disappear.

And Hazel was willing to bet this person they were chasing was well acquainted with that very underground. "Am I correct in assuming you've also made use of your time to find us a means of _reaching_ Vacuo as quickly as possible?"

The lean man before him let loose a short bark of laughter. "But of course! Time is a valuable resource, my dear Hazel, and I do so _loathe_ to waste it."

Hazel was pretty sure he heard Watts mutter something about Salem hating it even more, but he didn't bother bringing it up. They had a job to do, and neither of them were willing to disappoint on it.

Besides that, Hazel just wanted to finish this job up so he and Watts could both go their separate ways on their own work. The man was capable and held himself to a high standard, something Hazel could respect, but his attitude left _much_ to be desired. The disgraced scientist seemed to be possessed of an almost constant air of arrogance, only dropped when he was either deeply intimidated or unsettled in some way. Or when in the presence of Salem herself.

On the other hand, at least he wasn't Tyrian.

oOoOoOoOo Talbot Frost oOoOoOoOo

The train shrieked on the tracks as it was brought to a stop in the station, the vibrations of the steel slowly waning down as the locomotive was brought to a steady halt. People were visible from the windows, all of them waiting to board outside when the doors opened.

Talbot rose from the seat in his quarters, retrieving his luggage and quickly putting Eisenwald in an easily reached position, checking himself over in the mirror one last time.

…His right eye twitched slightly. The collar on his jacket was slightly off, and his shirt beneath not entirely tucked in. A momentary fix took care of both and everything was back in order. Good.

Picking up his bag, Talbot left the room and headed to the exit door nearest to his position to leave the train, the rays of the Vacuo sun shining down to greet him amidst all the noises you'd expect in a bustling train station. People boarding and disembarking, shouts and shoving with the typical Vacuo vigor and volume, every whistle in the air and rumble on through the ground for trains moving or still.

He made his way quickly, forcing his way through the thick crowds with some generous shoving to make his way. There were a more than a few complaints and muttered curses, but it was so drowned out that he wasn't sure even the speakers could hear themselves.

It wasn't long before he left the bulk of the crowds behind, the noises just starting to trail behind him and –

He froze, a hand going to Eisenwald and ready to pull it out in a blink as he looked around. People wandering in the area outside the train station, the occasional vehicle coming by for parking or driving out. Perfectly normal.

But _something_ had still set him off, that little alarm in the back of his head that daddy dearest had spent years _beating_ into him with constant surprise attacks or sudden training sessions. You don't last long in that without picking up a bit of a sixth sense for danger, and he'd developed a whole _list_ of good reasons for listening to it.

He ignored the nervous stares of the people who passed him by and tried to keep their distance, staying still and ready for whatever had set him off. He was fast, he had a weapon ready, and he knew _exacyl_ how to use it.

The bizarre stalemate seemed to go on for a good half minute before the feeling faded and Talbot relaxed, the warning in the back of his mind returning to peaceful silence. It wasn't quite enough to take his hand away from his weapon, not yet, but it was enough to start moving again.

With the threat passed, he went along his way. It'd been a good few months since he'd been back home in the capital, and he was looking forward to having something good to eat after getting a certain task done.

oOoOoOoOo Emerald Sustrai oOoOoOoOo

' _What the Hell just happened?'_

It was that one thought passing through Emerald's mind as she stood there, trying to keep herself from shaking.

He knew. She was sure of it, that guy somehow _knew_ or at least sensed when she was using her Semblance on him. How was that even _possible_? Nobody else, not even Hunters were able to tell her hallucinations apart from the real thing.

But that wasn't the biggest reason for her standing still in her spot by the alley, sweating and trying to keep the tremble from travelling up her hands. It was more than that.

Emerald was well acquainted with life in the seedy backstreets of Vacuo, the oft-reputed 'Kingdom of Gangsters and Thieves' on Remnant. There was trouble here, dangers and people that she'd had to navigate and survive for her whole life, and she was proud to say she'd gotten pretty good at it. Due in no small part to her Semblance. But a Semblance could only take someone so far before biting off more than you could chew.

And, by some twisted joke, she'd nearly tried to steal from one of those things that counted as more than she could handle. It wasn't just that he'd sensed her Semblance, not even that he'd reached for a weapon, it was more than that. It was her gut instinct, the voice that lay deep beneath all logic and reason that _screamed_ in your head when it wanted to be known.

And it was telling her that if she got anywhere close to that guy when he was still, if she tried to pick his pockets like she'd done on _so_ many people before, than she was going to _die_. No question, not uncertainty, just a singular absolute.

That had _never_ happened before.

It wasn't until he'd made a turn on the street and left her vision that she relaxed enough to let out a sigh, only then realizing that she'd actually been holding her breath the whole time.

It was also the moment her body decided to remind her of how hungry she was, stomach rumbling that familiar sound to her and bringing a grimace to Emerald's face. "Really, _now_ you're acting up?"

With the thoughts of her near death experience now pushed to the back of her mind, Emerald stalked off in search of easier prey.

Ahmar hadn't given her any work recently, meaning she'd had no real opportunities to get money for food. It was the biggest reason she'd came down here in search of some easy pickings, and _boy_ did that not go the way she'd hoped. So, with her passion for picking the pockets of those more fortunate having worn off, she decided to head for slightly safer pastures.

Doing her best to ignore the scents of cooking meats and the visions of fruits in the various stalls as she made her way, Emerald headed deeper into the market district. Specifically for the ones with shops in actual buildings that catered to the needs of the more moderately wealthy.

A bit of jewelry was always a good find for her, a nice bit of profit managing to work its way into her pockets even after all of Ahmar's _deductions_ off of the value. Fencing costs he called it, fucking _robbery_ she called it. But of course she'd never say that to his face.

The bustling little area she'd found was quite popular among the middle to upper-middle class of Vacuo, old shops having been bought and family owned for at least a generation lent them a bit of a traditional and personal feel that people just ate right up. More importantly, there was also a number of alleys that she could escape down in case she was caught.

Of course, perhaps the biggest reason was that people like her simply weren't allowed in the areas with shops that catered to the upper-class kind of customer. There would be security stationed outside to discourage people below a certain quality from entering, even violently if the person refused to get the message.

Seriously, as much as Emerald lover her Semblance it had some pretty big flaws. She could only use it on one person at a time, _maybe_ two if she really pushed it. That meant she could probably _get_ in, but she wouldn't be able to _stay_ in for long until someone called the security. Still, she'd take what she could get.

So Emerald put to use the most important skill in the arsenal of any good thief; she watched and waited for just the right moment.

As her stomach grumbled again, Emerald _really_ hoped she wouldn't need to do it for too long.

oOoOoOoOo Talbot Frost oOoOoOoOo

Talbot ignored the brief groan of his stomach, setting aside the bit of hunger for later. As nice as some good curry sounded at the moment he still had something more important to do.

Legs carrying him on memory and instinct as much as the direction of his mind, it wasn't long until he reached the area he'd came for; a block in the downtown residential area, far enough away to attention from law enforcement or the nosy and idealistic while still close enough for easy access to the heart of the city.

Most of the buildings here were pretty run down, various states of disrepair or decay visible. Most of the windows were so thoroughly broken that throwing a rock at a random building had little chance of even breaking one anymore, the doors loose or poorly held and pavement or concrete and brick steps visibly cracked. It was, for all intents and purposes, a complete wreck.

Talbot entered in through the front door of one of the buildings, not bothering to even knock before kicking the door right down and off of its hinges. He smiled slightly. "I'd always wanted to do that."

Walking in, he was greeted by the familiar and musty air buffeting down on him. He used to cough because of it whenever his dad brought him here, but he'd gotten used to it quickly enough.

The furniture and other features he'd passed by were in about as bad a state as the outside, all decaying and in need of either serious repair or outright replacement by something better. The chairs were so fragile that they could probably fail to even hold a cat, the couch cushions had numerous tears, there were holes spread seemingly at random on the walls, the stairs leading up had effectively collapsed. All in all, only the most poor and desperate would live here.

But it wasn't the _main_ floor Talbot had come here for, closing in on the door to the basement. He opened it normally this time, the creaking of aged wood and poorly maintained hinges providing contrast to the otherwise quiet house. He walked down, not bothering with the broken light-switch.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly enough, allowing him to easily reach the bottom and walk around to underneath the stairs. From there he let his hand move more by memory than vision and found a hidden switch in a specially concealed alcove. There was a brief click behind the wall and he pushed his hand forward, swinging the wall to the side to reveal a hidden room.

Old Irving had always called this place a steal, and, as much as he disliked agreeing with the man, Talbot couldn't really argue. From what they could tell, the place was bought by some wealthy criminal a while back who wanted a nice safehouse to stay in whenever things started heating up. So he quietly arranged for the money to trade hands and then arranged for the extra construction through a company with known criminal affiliates to do it under the table. Talbot could barely imagine the planning that went into making it all work. Too bad the guy died from a car crash after a bit too much drinking before he could ever even use it.

Still, that just meant it was put back on the market for people of a certain strata of society. And Irving had been really quick to snatch it right up, seeing an opportunity for a big deal. Oh, there had been a few people who had a bit more money to throw around, but…..well, nobody could say Irving wasn't persuasive when he wanted to be. Hard to say no when staring down the edge of an axe bigger than some _people_. Particularly when it was covered in a shimmering aura of pure heat and flames.

The room itself was comfortable enough, though sparsely furnished. The walls were red brick and the room itself large enough to count as a small apartment for two; a couch in the middle of the room along with a large and well-cushioned chair beside it, a coffee table in front and a TV on a display on the other side. There was also a small but well stocked kitchen further in, with a microwave and a large oven with some burners on top, a fridge on the other side of them and some cupboards for dishes. Off to the right of the couch and chair was a hallway that led to a single bathroom and a bedroom.

Closing the door behind him, Talbot headed down the hallway to his dad's room. A quick bit of picking the lock and he opened the door, seeing the inside of the room for perhaps the first time in his life.

It was….surprisingly underwhelming. There was a bed, a desk beside it, a couple of crates in the corner that he guessed held spare parts for Mercy, a closet built into the wall, pretty normal overall.

Except for the tall steel safe on the other side of the bed, stuck in the corner.

Talbot approached it, smiling. Now that the old man was dead he could just take everything he stored away as a cherry on top. He'd bet the bastard was probably screaming in frustration in the afterlife and trying to claw his way back to the world of the living about now. Hell, he kinda hoped he was.

Kneeling down to the lock on the safe, he fished through his bag until finding his dad's silver pendant. He'd carried it with him everywhere, and that one night when Talbot spied him in his room years ago revealed exactly why.

Carefully taking the pendant in hand, Talbot removed it from the chain and placed it in a small opening at the front of the safe, inserting it so the face was showing outward towards him. Then he fitted his fingers into the grip around the opening and _turned_ it like a key, the pendant disappearing as a sequence of clicks and shifts within indicated the locks were coming undone.

Then, with a final metallic snap, the door came ever so slightly loose and was ready to be opened. "Jackpot."

Grabbing the edge of the safe door, Talbot swung it open and had to hold back from drooling at the sight.

There was _so_ much lien in here! Each lien card was worth at least 100 of the currency each, all of it bundled neatly into stacks and held with rubber bands to keep them together. There was honestly more here than he could carry even if he stuffed his whole bag full of it after emptying out everything else. There was so much that he'd need to make at least two more trips, enough that somebody could probably retire in luxury for the rest of their life.

' _So…..what am_ _ **I**_ _gonna do with it?'_

The question brought a slight frown to his face. Truth be told he hadn't entirely thought that far, part of him had even just come here to take this as one last act of spite against the old man, plundering his life savings as a huge middle finger that would substitute for dancing on his grave. But what was he gonna do with it?

He briefly entertained the thought of retiring early, but he rejected the thought quickly. He wasn't interested in going off somewhere quiet and sitting around while getting fat and weak in the lap of luxury. He'd trained, been raised his whole life with the skills that'd been beaten into him, and the thought of leaving it all behind just seemed wrong somehow. It was pretty much all he knew.

…..No, he'd think about that later. It was over and he'd won, so this was his for the taking. Retirement might not suit him, but buying someplace a bit more upscale as a personal getaway sounded good, and there were _so_ many upgrades he could get for Eisenwald with this money.

But for now? Well, just one of these cards could get him something _real_ good to eat. And it wasn't like he was strapped for cash right now.

oOoOoOoOo Emerald Sustrai oOoOoOoOo

Against all the sounds of her slowly shrinking stomach urging her to hurry, Emerald approached slow and careful. Her target? A middle aged man who'd just bought a fancy looking bit of jewelry from one of her favorite haunts. A nice silver ring with a deep, red ruby.

She'd always kind of liked the red gemstones, even over her namesake stone. Maybe it was how they complimented her eyes, or maybe because she just really enjoyed the shine, but either way she liked them. It also helped that they tended to be quite valuable to pawn off, so there was that too.

And that one on the ring would be a _very_ nice prize for today, even with the cut Ahmar would undoubtedly take.

But she couldn't get careless here, she had to be careful. Theft was handled very seriously here in Vacuo, if only via vigilante justice rather than actual law enforcement, and she had no interest in getting caught up in it. She'd heard more than enough horror stories of street rats suddenly disappearing after getting caught.

So she took it easy, just following the man along nice and casual until he took just the right turn for her to take advantage and snag him with her Semblance somewhere isolated. All while suppressing her growing hunger pangs.

Eventually it paid off, the man heading down an alleyway in one of the older neighborhoods with nobody else present. Perfect.

She struck once they were alone, having it look to him like somebody came in from the other corner and started asking for directions. The man appeared exasperated, but obliged and gave directions to the empty air before him.

And while he was busy Emerald struck, reaching right into his pocket for the ring. And, wouldn't luck have it, she also managed to snag his wallet. She thought of stealing his lien from him, but dropped it. Ahmar would probably take almost all of it anyway and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of it.

Still, she got what she came for. Just in time, considering someone was now walking down the alleyway from the other side, though she was pretty sure she'd pocketed the ring before they could see.

So she did her best to look casual and briskly walked along-

 _*GROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAN*_

-before she felt the strongest hunger pang she'd endured in months. One that spoke of her feeding off of little but scraps for the past two weeks now and left her wrapping an arm around her gut.

But, perhaps most importantly, it was bad enough that it disrupted her control of her Semblance.

The man broke free immediately, blinking and briefly cursing in confusion as the person he was talking to seemed to disappear into thin air. Then he saw her, doing her best to quickly walk away without looking suspicious.

Thing is, the problem with not looking suspicious is that it's _really_ hard when you know you're guilty of something. And it looked like her mark could see it too. He quickly checked his pockets to see if anything was missing, before freezing for a moment before turning to glare at her. "Hey, stop her!"

And so she ran. Fast. Legs pumping as fast as they could as she got into a full sprint, barely avoiding a collision with the guy who'd entered the alley. A strangely _familiar_ guy.

She dismissed the thought, just grateful he didn't try to stop her. She thought she'd felt a very brief sensation in one of her pockets, but was too panicked to give it any mind.

Unfortunately it did little to help. A man screaming "Thief!" at the top of his lungs tended to draw attention, and soon she had a group of five people chasing her.

' _Damnit, this is NOT what I had in mind for today!'_

She kept running, trying to outrun her pursuers or lose them in the crowds. But these were tenacious bastards, and her rather distinctive combination of hair and skin coloring made it hard for her to blend in.

It didn't help that she didn't know this particular area of the backstreets very well, narrowly avoiding dead ends and dodging clogged alleyways during her swift retreat. Until eventually she ran out of luck and found herself in a dead end.

With nowhere to run, she turned to see her pursuers. They were all men, each of them bigger than her by at least 30 pounds and looking ready for a fight.

This _really_ wasn't a good situation for her. If it was just one then her Semblance was all she'd need, but against five? There was no way she could spread it out that far?

She stepped back as they moved forward, some of them pulling out knives, and she mover her hands to her back to get them in position for her own weapons.

She almost pulled them out before one last man entered the alley from behind the others. Now alert and watching, she recognized him from before. It was the guy from the train station….and he was holding the ring she'd stolen in his hand, right in plain sight to her, with a smile on his face.

He mouthed "Play along", and slipped the ring into his pocket. "Is there something going on here everybody?"

 **xXx**

WHEW! Dayum, I almost missed it this time, but I was able to put myself to my keyboard and write down this chapter for the anniversary of Monty's death. To be fair, I was planning on making this chapter longer, but I'm on a bit of a schedule with work right now and I kinda ran out of time. Doesn't help that Kingdom Hearts III came out and I just HAD to play it in more of my spare time.

Anyway, I'd like to apologize to all of my readers. I'm pretty sure not EVERY reader of my fics will get this, but I had to get my apologies for the long gaps between chapters. For those of you who don't know, I've bene going through a bit of a rough patch since last February. I had a work accident and ended up injuring my knee, so I was put off work. That might SOUND like a good thing, but trust me when I say it's very much not, it was incredibly stressful.

Y'see, my mom and I are essentially living hand to mouth from paycheck to paycheck, so even with workers comp and them handling the surgery costs (YES, I needed surgery), we were still pretty scared. It's hard to try and work on fanfiction when real life just keeps stressing you out. We got through it, but then I was in for another surprise when I got back to work. Namely, the company I work for changed their contract hours, so instead of 37.5 hours a week I'm working **24** hours a week! That's a LOT of money lost. I guess you could say we're still stable, but it's not an easy balance to keep, so it's been hard to focus on my writing recently. I'm trying to find another job to replace my current one, so hopefully it'll be solved soon enough.

Lastly, I understand that Zentari2238 dropped the word 'edgelord' in regards to the protagonist and…I can KINDA see why. I'll admit that he does certainly show signs, let me assure you I didn't design him solely to be some kind of edge character. If anything he would be a deconstruction of it. Problem with edge characters, at least in my own experience in reading about them, is that they tend to be poorly disguised author avatars that the writer tries to make look 'cool' or 'dark' or all that stuff, particularly without actually giving them a deeper degree of character beyond the surface. It doesn't help that they also tend to somehow have other characters fawn over how awesome they are in ways that are INCREDIBLY out of character so the writer can make it seem like THEY'RE the ones being complimented.

Essentially, I think the term 'edge' has just degraded over time to mean just another variety of Mary Sue that the writer makes the world bend over backwards for. But that doesn't mean that the root idea is necessarily a bad one if handled right? You wanna know an example? Gut's from Berserk. Seriously, take ONE look at him and say he isn't edgy. But he's so well written and fleshed out that he still comes across as a truly deep and meaningful character. The problem is that so many writers focus so much on the external part and pleasing their ego's that they don't bother doing any of the real work for making a character, and I think that's actually rather sad. To be fair, I'm not saying Talbot will be on par with Guts, I lie to consider myself a decent writer, but I doubt I'm THAT good. But that doesn't mean can't give it a shot, right?

Please review and have a nice day!


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